


Not Even Close to Perfect

by CatHeights



Series: Slipping Past Your Fortress [2]
Category: Inception
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the job in Italy, Arthur can't seem to get Eames out of his mind. He keeps replaying events and finding he's attracted to the changeable puzzle that is Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even Close to Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in a planned trilogy. It follows [Slipping Past Your Fortress](http://archiveofourown.org/works/127774). The Newbury Street restaurant and coffee shop Arthur and Eames visit are fictional places. Thanks to Data for encouragement and beta help.

_Is Mommy with Daddy?_

Several days and a flight later and Arthur still can't get James's question out of his head. How do you make a child that young understand his Mother isn't anywhere anymore? He'd done a poor job of it, and probably would have mangled it further if not for Phillipa, who had interrupted his halting explanation by hugging him tight, reaching out her hand to pull her brother into the hug too.

As he'd stood there, arms around both children, holding them close in an illusion of safety, Arthur had felt like something in his chest had ripped and was being painfully torn open. Mal should be there hugging her kids. Cobb should be there. Instead they got him, an inadequate substitution. The subsequent conversation with Cobb, where he assured him the kids were ok, had only made his chest feel even more hollowed out. The gratitude mixed with longing in Cobb's voice made him uncomfortable.

He doesn't deserve gratitude. Not when he had ignored the red flags.

_She's standing by the counter scraping a knife against it._

_"Mal?"_

_"Arthur." She slowly puts the knife down and turns to him._

_The smile she gives him is unlike any he's ever seen on her face. It's filled with such sadness that he fears she's about to tell him something horrible has happened to Cobb._

_Instead what she says makes no sense to him. "You made me doubt at first. He created you so perfectly, or maybe it was me who created you, or perhaps both of us. But it makes sense. You are so dear. We must miss you."_

_"What are you talking about? Are you all right?" Maybe she has a fever and is delirious, except she looks fine. There's no flush to her skin or glaze to her eyes._

_Mal walks over to him and cups the side of his face, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. "So nearly perfect. It's going to be okay. I'm going to fix things."_

_"Fix what things?"_

_She doesn't answer. Instead she walks away from him, and as she exits the kitchen, she says, "I'll see you soon Arthur."_

Two days later she kills herself, razing the life she and Cobb shared completely. Arthur can't stop wishing he would have shared all the details of that conversation with Cobb. Maybe there had been some indicator of what she'd been planning in something she'd said to him. But Cobb had cut him off saying things were under control. He seemed so confident, and Arthur hadn't wanted to pry, so he'd dropped the subject with a "let me know if you need my help with anything."

Now he just wishes he could understand how Mal lost her grip on reality. There's something Cobb's not telling him. Arthur knows it, and he can't figure out why Cobb won't talk to him about it. Their friendship feels stretched thin which has left him feeling adrift—alone.

When they last spoke, Cobb told him he was going off the radar for a bit. Arthur has stopped asking exactly what that means. Whatever form of self-flagellation Cobb is engaging in, he's not going to discuss it, and no matter how much it frustrates him, there's nothing Arthur can do about it. So he lets it go, knowing Cobb won't surface again for a week or two. Which means now that he's made a drop off of information to a frequent client vacationing in New York, he's got time to kill. Should he stay in New York for a few days or catch a flight back to Europe? London? Paris?

As if any of those options are valid choices when he knows Eames is in Boston.

It's a chilly day in New York. There's a bite to the air that hurts his ears, but despite the cold, Arthur has been sitting on a bench in Central Park for the last 45 minutes, gloved hands folded on his knees. People hurry by him, but he notices them only peripherally, his mind automatically looking out for potential threats. Mainly, though, he's caught in memory, seeing only Eames. He pictures the smirk and the way it lights up his eyes. He remembers how Eames had closed his eyes when Arthur did his tie. Arthur knows if he hadn't screwed up and gotten hurt, he would have slept with Eames, and he wants to know what it would have been like.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Eames called once about job, but he and Cobb had already been involved in another. He'd turned it down with serious regret in his voice.

_That's ok, love, there will be others._

Arthur smiles at the sound of Eames's voice in his head.

It's funny, he accepted that job in Italy with Eames because he wanted a distraction, wanted to work on a job with no complications—well no unknown complications. Arthur figured as long as he was clear with Eames that he wasn't going to put up with any crap, he'd be able to derail Eames's annoying and constant flirting. He'd never admit it out loud, but he likes working with Eames. The forger is brilliant, and when they work together, he has to push his own limits. It's exhilarating, a bit like creating in a dream, no boundaries. So when Eames called, he jumped on the opportunity because he wanted to forget for a while, to get lost in creation and bury grief.

Eames was extraordinarily accommodating, making it almost too easy to forget everything outside of the two of them and one job. After the first day, things were so easy that Arthur began to wonder if he was fooling himself, creating an illusion of ease with Eames because he so desperately wanted an escape. Prior to Rome, Arthur never would have admitted he found Eames attractive, probably not even to himself. Now he wonders how he ever denied the attraction. Not that attraction, a physical response, means much of anything, but you can't deny what gets you off.

Besides, it's not like frequently thinking about Eames has been a hardship. Arthur leans back on the bench and closes his eyes, a smile tipping the edges of his mouth. It's so easy to remember walking the streets of Rome with Eames, eating gelato and laughing. Some days those memories are the only things helping him stay sane and keeping him from beating the crap out of Cobb until he comes clean about whatever the fuck is eating at him just as much as the grief.

He can't stop thinking about that morning in Paris wondering what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep. The sequence of events has played out many a time in his mind, but he can't make his mind go beyond what happened. What if scenarios are a waste of time, and even if just this once, he'd like to indulge, he can't seem to convince his brain to take that leap.

_Arthur wakes to a burning pain. For a second his guard goes up as he realizes someone is in the room with him, but memory quickly provides answers, and he relaxes. He tries to let the warmth of Eames beside him lull him back to sleep, but the pain is persistent, whips of fire licking up his side. It's no use trying to will it away._

_He gets up and stumbles to the bathroom, closing the door quietly. He downs several pain killers and then clutches the side of the sink, breathing evenly to try to control the burning spasms. Now that he's up, he should leave. Things will be awkward in the morning, and the job is done. Except he's so tired, and more importantly he doesn't want to leave. These last two weeks with Eames have been a welcome break, and he wants it to last just a bit longer._

_But, he should leave._

_Screw it. He's tired. Arthur opens the door and turns off the light and manages to wake Eames despite his attempts at being quiet._

_"Arthur?"_

_"Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."_

_He slides backs into bed instinctively moving closer to Eames's warmth as if it can somehow combat the burn in his side. Their feet touch, and Arthur finds that strangely intimate, and even stranger, finds it doesn't bother him. At least not right now._

_"You go back to sleep too." Eames's voice is sleepy, and the sound of it makes Arthur smile._

_Eames reaches out a hand, and Arthur takes it, lacing their fingers together._

_"I will."_

_With that reassurance given, Eames is asleep again in seconds._

He'd woke again a few hours later and been unable to get back to sleep. Tying his shoes was agony, but despite the pain, he'd had the impractical wish that Eames would wake and coax him to have that celebration. Arthur hadn't been ready to return to Cobb and the loneliness that surrounded the man, and it was the guilt that came with that reluctance that had kept him from waking Eames, so instead he left behind a rather inadequate note. He wasn't good with expressing gratitude in writing, and, "Call me soon, so we can fuck," seemed rather gauche.

Arthur smirks. The crassness probably would have amused Eames.

He can't help feeling that he has unfinished business with Eames. At least that's the only acceptable term he can settle on for classifying his inability to stop thinking about the man. His lack of control over his thoughts has been extremely frustrating.

Arthur stands, his decision made. He's going to Boston. Perhaps the solution to setting himself free from this obsession is to give into it, and then he'll be able to move on. It's Eames, so surely the sex can be no strings and no complications. It's possible Eames will be on a job and not be free, but it's worth the risk as with Cobb currently moping, he has nothing else to do. And if Eames is working a job, maybe he could use some help. Working a job again with Eames is definitely something to which he'd be amenable.

*~*~*~*~*~

His decision to take the train over flying had been influenced by the amount of time he's spent in Europe recently. Obviously, he'd forgotten what a joke the U.S. rail system is. The Acela has no right to call itself a high-speed train. Despite his impatience, he still admires the view. It's been a long time since he's been back to New England. Lit by the rising sun, the coastline is stunning. Perhaps its cold beauty might be off putting to some, but to him it has a bracing almost expectant feel.

The landscape can only occupy his attention for so long, and by the time he gets off the train, Arthur's shoulders are tight with tension from inactivity. He checks into his hotel, puts away his clothes, and then begins the hunt for Eames. Once he's located where Eames is staying, it's easy to narrow down the bars that would appeal to the man. In fact, he finds success at the first bar he enters on Boylston Street.

Eames is seated at the bar in jeans and a rather non-descript top that has several buttons open. He's drinking a beer and chatting up the bartender. No surprise there. However, his understated dress is surprising. He looks really good. Suddenly Arthur feels more nervous than he's been in years. Then Eames catches sight of him, and he's greeted with a wide, appreciative grin. The nervousness disappears. He's chosen his course of action, so why would he waste time with doubt?

He walks over. Eames stands, and when Arthur shakes his hand, he holds on a little longer than necessary, allowing himself to take a closer look at the skin exposed by Eames's open shirt. He has no doubt his appraisal has been noticed.

"Arthur, this is a pleasant surprise."

"Eames."

The bartender smiles at him. "What can I get you?"

As Arthur turns his attention to the bartender, he brushes his arm against Eames's chest. "Sam Adams."

"Draft or bottle?"

"Bottle."

Eames is watching him like he's the most interesting person he's ever encountered. "I take it you've been to Boston before." He settles back onto the stool.

"I lived here for a bit, but I haven't been back in years." Arthur sits next to him and takes off his coat.

There's a pause as Eames takes a sip of his beer. "I'm guessing you're here about a job, eh? I'd been planning to go on holiday, but for you I might reconsider."

"Actually, I'm not here about a job." The bartender brings over his beer, and Arthur picks it up, and then spins so he's facing outward. He leans his elbows on the bar and takes a sip of his beer. It's an effort to keep his lips from curling in a grin as Eames watches him with such intensity. Who knew the simple act of swallowing could be so fascinating? That's right, he did. Ok, enough with that line of thinking. He'll spill his hand if he doesn't stop gloating.

"Oh?"

Arthur puts his beer down and shrugs. "I was nearby, and I knew you were as well, so I figured I'd see if you were free for dinner. If you already have plans to head out of town...."

"Absolutely not," Eames cuts in smoothly, "my plans were mere ideas, and none of them were as pleasing as spending time with you." The smile that graces his face is so brilliant that Arthur can't help returning it. "I have to run a few errands first. Shall we say eight?"

"There's a place that opened about month ago, Venture, over on Newbury. It's supposed to be eclectic international food with a European flair. I expect it's very American, but the reviews have been good."

Eames laughs. "It sounds lovely. You said you haven't been here in years, and yet you still know your restaurants, even the new ones."

Arthur shrugs. "I'm good at keeping tabs on things." There is no way he's admitting to Eames that he spent a good portion of the train ride here pouring over Yelp and Urban Spoon for restaurant suggestions.

"Yes, you are. I'm so sorry to have to run off. I've got the drinks." Eames settles things with the bartender and reaches for his coat, which is lying on the stool next to him.

"Thanks. I'll see you at the restaurant at eight."

Eames nods and heads out of the bar, but he stops at the door and turns around. Arthur smiles and then raises his beer bottle as if toasting the other man. Even from here, Arthur can see the expression on Eames's face, and he has to say pleasantly surprised is a very good look on him. Feeling rather self-satisfied, Arthur finishes his beer.

*~*~*~*~*~

The problem with new, hip restaurants is that everyone wants to go to them. He'd had no problem managing a reservation—he's very convincing when he needs to be. And the cuisine has totally lived up to each and every review. However the restaurant is incredibly loud, and it's annoying. He wants to hear Eames. So when Eames passes on dessert, he does so as well and happily agrees to Eames's suggestion of taking a stroll down Newbury.

Eames glances at the rows of closed stores. "Is it some sort of obscure local holiday here this week? The shops around here seem to never be open."

Arthur laughs. "Boston is not New York. It has a reputation for shutting down ridiculously early, particularly in the winter. The only thing open at this hour on Newbury will be the restaurants and bars, and only a few of those will stay open until 2 am."

"It's Puritan roots showing through?"

"I guess." Arthur shrugs. "It's just Boston. The city is a bit like the New England weather—unexpected at turns. Very liberal in some things and oddly conservative in others." Arthur shrugs. "I like the contrasts. It makes it interesting."

"It seems like you have fond memories of living here?"

"I guess. I spent a few years here as a kid. It wasn't a bad place to live." Actually it had been a rather decent place to live as those few years were the longest span of time his father had managed to maintain some semblance of control over his life.

"Well this is my first visit. I have to agree it is a study in contrasts, a gorgeous and brilliant one." Eames lowers his voice. "Much like you."

Arthur smiles but doesn't respond to the comment. A gust of wind stings his ears, but he doesn't mind, although 15 minutes from now that might be a different story.

Eames stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I think my gloves are a tad thin for this weather. I passed a cute little coffee shop earlier, next block up. Shall we stop in for a spot of something and warm up for a bit?"

"You're not referring to Starbucks are you?"

"No, I am not referring to Starbucks, thank you very much. Why don't we go take a look at the place, and then you can decide if it meets your qualifications?"

"Ok. And for the record I like Starbucks. I just wouldn't call it cute."

"And you think I would?" Eames looks offended.

"I wouldn't call many things cute." Arthur tries to keep a straight face, but he ruins it by his lips quirking. It's fun to actually turn the tables and wind Eames up for once.

"Why, Arthur, I think you're actually teasing me."

"How am I doing?"

"I'd say keep practicing, but I don't think that would be to my benefit."

Arthur laughs. "Probably not. I would say I'm already better at it than you would expect."

By the time they reach the coffee shop, Arthur's ears are freezing, and he thinks suggesting to stop inside was one of Eames's better ideas. While the place is small, luckily it's not too crowded. Big comfy chairs surround eclectic tables that are decorated with tiles. The atmosphere seems to encourage relaxing and sipping coffee while eating pastries. It suits his mood perfectly.

They take off their gloves and step up to the counter. When Eames orders hot chocolate, Arthur finds himself asking for the same, even though he can't remember the last time he's had a hot chocolate.

The cashier, who looks barely eighteen, smiles at Eames. "Do you want whip cream?"

Eames grins broadly. "Of course, everything is better with whip cream."

The girl giggles, and Arthur rolls his eyes.

"He'll have whip cream too."

As they walk over to wait for their drinks, Arthur asks, "And what if I tell you I hate whip cream?"

Eames steps in close and whispers in Arthur's ear. "Then I shall offer to lick it off for you."

Score one for Eames. The thoughts crossing Arthur's mind have nothing to do with whip cream, but they do involve Eames's mouth and nudity.

Their hot chocolates arrive served in big round cups, and they make their way to two seats in the corner tucked out of the way but with a clear view of the door. Arthur doubts they'll run into any trouble here, but you never know. Eames sprawls in his seat and makes an appreciative noise after taking the first sip of his drink.

Arthur takes a sip as well, but he finds the whip cream to be an annoyance, so he starts to lick it off. He glances up to find Eames watching him raptly, so he starts to make more of show of it, using more tongue and slowing his pace. Score one for him.

When the whip cream is gone, Arthur places his cup down for a second.

Eames grins. "You missed a spot." He leans over and rubs at Arthur's lip and then holds up his finger, which now has a small amount of whip cream on it. "See."

Arthur is tempted to lick Eames's finger. The time to suggest going back to his room is almost nigh, as he sees no reason to continue denying himself gratification. He's almost disappointed when Eames does something as pedestrian as merely wiping the whip cream off with his napkin.

They sip their drinks quietly for a while, and when they're nearly done, Eames asks, "Why are you here, Arthur?"

"I thought you liked my company." Arthur puts his cup down.

"I do." Eames seems to be struggling with what to say, which is uncharacteristic enough that Arthur takes pity on him.

"I owed you a celebration."

Eames frowns. "You don't owe me anything."

"I'm here because I want to be here."

That answers gets him a smile from Eames. "Just so we're on the same page."

Arthur gestures toward the door. "Do you want to keep walking around in the arctic Boston weather or would you like to go back to my room?"

Eames laughs. "Your directness is refreshing."

"When aren't I direct?"

"You do have a point." Eames gives him an admiring look that's tinged with surprise.

_Thought you had me figured out, didn't you?_ Arthur thinks, feeling a bit smug.

Arthur leans over and runs a thumb along the back of Eames's hand. "All set with that?"

"What? Oh, yes, thank you."

He takes their empty cups over to the spot for them on the counter, and then goes back to their table and starts to put his coat on.

"There is something quite good about this arctic weather," Eames says.

"Oh, what is that?"

"It'll give us an incentive to get warm."

"Who needs an incentive?" Arthur asks as he walks toward the door.

Eames's laughter follows him as he steps outside, and he finds himself grinning. It's going to be a good night.

*~*~*~*~*~

Eames is wandering around Arthur's room as if it's the most interesting place he's been in decades. Arthur leans against the wall, waiting and watching, until finally he's had enough. He walks over to Eames and places his hands on his shoulders. "Am I supposed to issue an invite?"

"Do you have one you want to issue?" Eames grins and places a hand on Arthur's hip. "I'm just making sure I'm reading all your cues correctly. You have all these rules I never understand."

"No, I don't. Besides, what rules do you actually follow?"

"Well it depends, is it to my benefit to follow them?"

"Probably not," Arthur mutters, and then he leans in and kisses Eames.

He's not sure what he was expecting. Perhaps awkwardness, kissing isn't always seamless, noses touch at the wrong times, foreheads get in the way. Or maybe he expected just a mildly pleasant beginning to things. Except what he gets is something explosive. Their kissing quickly turns aggressive, and he's tugging at Eames's shirt, needing to feel the other man's skin. Arthur doesn't remember ever wanting someone this badly. He presses Eames against the wall, so tight he can feel Eames's cock pressing against his even through their clothes.

Eames starts to undo Arthur's belt buckle. "Tell me what you want? What do you need?"

The question throws Arthur because he can't think clearly enough to form an answer besides— _this._ And there's a difference between need and want, and he hasn't needed anything in a long time. Christ, how long has he been denying this attraction to Eames? He finds the shreds of his control and puts a hand against Eames's chest. "I have one condition."

"Of course you do." Eames groans and presses his forehead against Arthur's.

"I'm only here for the night." That statement makes Arthur feel back in control, at least until Eames pushes back from him and looks at him with the oddest expression, before he goes expressionless. Arthur feels a moment of doubt, but he remains silent. Why should that condition bother Eames?

"Just one night. Hmm." Eames sounds and looks amused, but for some reason Arthur feels it's forced. "Do you have somewhere you need to be tomorrow?"

"No."

"Well then, I have a counter-offer."

Arthur's jaw tightens. "This isn't a negotiation."

"No, it never is with you."

_This is a mistake._ Arthur steps back, but Eames reaches out and runs a finger on the inside of Arthur's arm. It's a feather-light touch, but it sends chills of want through his body. If he leaves now, he's going to be tormented by wondering what it would be like to fuck Eames. He goes still.

"Hear me out. Give me two days. That's not too much to ask, is it? One night stands are so common. And so rushed." Eames tugs lightly on Arthur's wrist pulling him closer. He pushes aside the open buttons on Arthur's shirt and kisses his collarbone. "Hard and fast, and leisurely exploration both have their benefits, and why choose when you can have both? So what do you say?" Eames's hand is once again on his belt buckle, but he holds still.

Arthur slides his hand over Eames's and starts to undo his belt. "Two days," he says.

Eames doesn't need further invitation, and it's obvious they're going to start with hard and fast, which is fine with Arthur. He's not sure which of his clothes he takes off and which Eames removes for him. It's liberating not to be bothered with such details. And why would he waste time on such things when he's tumbling into the bed, shoving aside the sheets, naked with Eames?

They roll around on the bed, touching, kissing—fighting and relinquishing dominance. On one pass, Eames presses Arthur's arms against the bed, and Arthur allows it, keeping them spread by his head even when Eames lets go. He closes his eyes and gets lost in the feel of letting Eames devour him. Hot, wet kisses have him arching upward, demanding more with no ability to list out what it is he's demanding.

"Oh Arthur, I've dreamed of you like this. Flushed and spread out before me, with your mouth open and making those gorgeous sounds just for me."

Arthur can't say he's ever dreamed of Eames like he is right now, because he doesn't dream without structure. Even if he'd like to just let go, see where the dream might take him, rather than where he wants to take it, he's not sure he has that ability. It's one of the many reasons he likes working with people like Cobb, Mal, and Eames. Dealing with the unexpected keeps him sharp. No, he could never have dreamed of Eames like this, but he's more than happy to let the reality burn its way through his skin to his brain.

Eames moves up Arthur's body, pressing their cocks together as he kisses Arthur's collarbone. "Would you scream for me, darling? I think I'd like that."

"Eames." Arthur growls the name.

"Oh, I like that even better. Say my name like that again."

Arthur ignores the inane request. Instead, he pushes himself up and cups Eames face, kisses him hard and silences the chatter. Then he reverses their positions, tumbling Eames over so he's on top. Arthur takes a quick study of Eames body, making mental notes of the sounds that go with each spot he touches. He finds himself immensely turned on by those sounds.

When he takes Eames's cock into his mouth, he glances upward and is rewarded by the sight of Eames completely unguarded. His pupils are blown wide in lust, his mouth open and breaths coming quickly, and while that image alone gives Arthur a rush of satisfaction, it's Eames's expression that makes him feel powerful. Mixed in with the desire is a look of wonder, joy, and Arthur knows without a doubt that he's surpassing every fantasy Eames ever had about him. Using his mouth and his hand, Arthur strips Eames's control with pleasure.

"Arthur. I can't. Slow down. I won't...."

As he ignores Eames's warning, Arthur knows he's just thrown the rule book out the window. His previous attempts at trying to control whatever this is between he and Eames have all been pointless. In the end nothing matters, except what he wants—the changeable puzzle that is Eames.

Eames comes shouting his name, and Arthur swallows, feeling smug and incredibly aroused. After he releases Eames's cock, he rests his head on Eames's stomach for a moment, smiling as he feels lazy fingers carding through his hair. He pushes himself up on his arms, and then climbs up Eames's body, sliding his hard cock against warm skin. Arthur kisses Eames, his tongue testing limits and encountering none. When he breaks the kiss, he traces a finger along Eames's lower lip before sitting up and resting his weight on his thighs as he straddles Eames. He strokes himself, thrusting slowly into his hand, and watches the effect the sight has on Eames, the way he licks his lips.

"I'm sure I can count on your being prepared." Eames runs a thumb over the head of Arthur's cock.

The touch sends a shudder through Arthur, and he closes his eyes. "Of course." He reaches for Eames's hand, wrapping it around his cock.

"So what are you waiting for? An invitation?"

While Arthur laughs, in a way that is exactly what he's been waiting for because with a first time you're never sure what your partner is fully comfortable with, so it's best to wait for a sign, an invite of sorts. He leans over Eames to reach into the nightstand where he retrieves a condom and some lube. The condom is tossed onto the bed, but he squeezes some of the lube onto his fingers.

Watching his fingers disappear inside Eames and hearing the way his breath catches tests Arthur's patience. He wants to feel Eames wrapped around his cock.

"Arthur, you're not waiting for another invitation are you?" Eames clenches around his fingers.

Arthur slowly pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets.

Eames reaches out and strokes his cock. Arthur tips his head back, breathing hard. He won't last long at this rate. He hears the sounds of a condom wrapper, and then Eames is sliding the condom on him.

He pushes in slowly, and Eames accepts him easily, his body relaxed, as if they'd done this before. There's a rhythm he's never experienced, and yet, it's so right and familiar that it almost makes him want to reach for his totem. But that would mean stopping, and right now he's sure he'd kill the person or destroy the thing that stopped him. He reaches for Eames right hand and pins it to the bed, squeezing it hard and biting down on his lip to silence any sounds.

"Let go. Give me that much, won't you? Let me hear you." Eames runs a finger down Arthur's chest and pinches his nipple. "Arthur."

The moan that slips past his lips sounds incredibly loud, but he doesn't care, not about it, or the moans and shouted words that follow as Eames drives him to the edge. He closes his eyes as the orgasm takes him.

Somehow above the sound of his pounding heart, he hears Eames whisper, "Definitely worth the wait."

After removing and disposing of the condom, he collapses on the bed, his muscles languid, and raises no objections to the way Eames is running fingers through his hair.

"Well that wasn't hard and fast, but I don't think it qualifies as a full exploration. Who would have thought you and I would find a middle ground? That just means we need to hit the extremes as well, doesn't it?"

Arthur shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Why does it not surprise me that you're insatiable?"

"How can I not be, when I still have the possibility of having you beneath me?"

The unasked question in that statement is loud and clear, so Arthur answers it. "Yes, Eames, I like to top and bottom. Although it won't surprise you that I usually prefer to top. But I'm open to being impressed."

"You have no idea how impressive I will be."

Arthur has no doubts Eames will live up to his own billing, but he sees no reason to further feed the man's ego. Besides silence will just encourage Eames to be even more impressive and that can only be to Arthur's benefit. He hides his smirk in the pillow and closes his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~

He feels lazy and self-indulgent, and Arthur idly wonders if he's picking up bad habits in such a short span of time as he'd left Eames sprawled across the bed like an indulged cat. The warm water massaging the minor aches from his body adds to the feeling of sybaritic lavishness. It's an effort to reach for the shampoo, but he does. This morning Eames had demonstrated why he was such a good forger—he was a quick study. Arthur's never slept with someone so good at figuring out his needs and stripping away his control. Earlier Eames had entered him from the side, pressing their knotted hands against Arthur's stomach, and Arthur had felt the same wonder he felt in the dreamscape. Nothing else was like this.

Of course now out of the moment, he realizes that is of course an exaggeration. He recognizes the rush novelty can bring. Despite how pleasurable yesterday and this morning have been, Arthur wonders at what point he'll start to feel caged. Even fantastic sex has to get boring after a while. As he turns off the shower and begins to dry off, he figures he'll worry about such a thing when it happens.

When he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, he's not surprised when Eames comes over immediately. He's pulled in for a kiss as Eames's hands run down his side and then come to rest against the cloth on his hips. Arthur expects Eames to remove the towel, but that's not what happens.

Instead, Eames rubs a thumb along his jaw, gives him a light peck and then plops back onto the bed where he picks up a magazine and holds it out to Arthur. "There's a Modernist Photography Exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. Any interest?"

"You want to go to the MFA?"

"I thought it looked interesting, no? But if you'd rather do something else?"

Arthur glances at the magazine and scans the names—Stieglitz, Evan, Sheeler—and period, 1910-1950. It does look interesting. He likes Sheeler's work. He's not sure, though, how to take this turn of events. Should he be offended that Eames doesn't want to stay in the hotel and fuck each other's brains out? "No, this is fine. I like photography."

"I know." Eames smiles. "Excellent. How about lunch first, then to the museum and back here for an afternoon respite? Maybe takeaway or room service for dinner depending on how occupied we are." Eames's grin is decidedly wicked.

"Be careful I might be rubbing off on you. An agenda for the day? Isn't that boring and unimaginative?"

Eames shrugs. "Just being efficient, I guess. We only have two days. It would be a shame not to make the most of the time, wouldn't it? Besides, I never said we had to stick to the plan. Improvising is always an option."

So rather than spending the day in bed, Arthur finds himself doing a Boston cliché and having lunch at an Irish Pub, but the food is good and the conversation easy and enjoyable. As they're leaving for the museum, it starts to snow, and of course Eames sticks his tongue out. If the man decides to do something juvenile like stick his tongue to a pole, Arthur is leaving him stuck there. But Eames once again does the unexpected, threading their fingers together and pulling Arthur close to kiss him. There's nothing juvenile about the kiss. The taste of snow and Eames lingers on Arthur's tongue as they walk. Annoyingly, he finds himself smiling for no reason.

Once inside the museum, Arthur stops at the bottom of a grand staircase and takes in the sight of all of that marble. He hasn't been back here since he was a kid, and he starts to try to catalogue the changes, but quickly decides such a thing is pointless. Instead, since he's going for self-indulgence on this trip, he lets himself remember the fondness he had for this place and appreciates Eames's recommendation of spending some time here.

At the top of the stairs they halt in front of a circular opening that is in the middle of the rotunda. Eames looks down with a smirk, and Arthur knows he's thinking about tossing something down there. "You were a terror in school, weren't you?"

Eames puts a hand to his chest. "Arthur, I'm insulted. I would say, I was as behaved as any child."

"So I'm correct—a terror."

He gets no further acknowledgment, Eames simply smiles and for a second caresses Arthur's wrist before letting go and moving on. Arthur follows smiling as well.

As they wind their way through the museum, Arthur muses that they're in a maze, albeit a small one. He's been to far grander museums than this one, although to his memory none seem as grand, and he remembers thinking it was the biggest, most elegant place in the world. In dreams, he's shared many mazes with Eames, but this is the first one he's shared while awake. It's rather commonplace, and yet somehow that seems to add significance.

They make their way through the exhibit, which isn't much more than a medium-sized room. Arthur takes his time gazing at the different photos and eventually comes to a stop in front of a Charles Sheeler painting, _Ore into Iron_. It's one of his favorites and the violet and blue coloring of it seem to him like a storm amongst all the straight photography. It's striking, illuminating.

"It's a bit like a dream."

Eames's words are bursts of air against his neck. He leans back slightly closing the distance so that he feels the warmth of Eames's body against his back. "It is. A blending of the real and surreal."

"What I don't get is why it's part of a photography exhibit."

Arthur steps away and turns to him, eyebrow raised. "It might help to read the plaque beside the painting."

"Ah but I'd rather hear the explanation from you." Eames crosses his arms and smiles.

"You're impossible." Arthur hears the exasperation in his tone, and yet he still indulges the man. "Sheeler used his own photographs as the basis for his paintings. This one is based off a photo he took of blast furnaces at a U.S. Steel plant in Pittsburgh."

"Ah, so that's what it is."

Arthur points. "See how he uses color to create abstract shapes, and yet there is still such linear precision to his work. Obviously he considered himself a Precisionist."

"Which of course appeals to you."

"But doesn't appeal to you?"

"Do you mean do I like the painting? Yes I do, but I like the contrast of boldness and shadow. It speaks of possibility to me, not precision."

Arthur stares at the painting trying to see it through Eames's eyes.

Eames interrupts his thoughts. "Don't you suppose that just like in a dream, there's room for different approaches, perceptions?"

One side of Arthur's mouth quirks slightly. "As long as they're the right ones."

"Arthur."

He laughs. "Yes, there is room." Arthur grows serious. "I do appreciate different approaches."

"That's good."

*~*~*~*~*~

Much later after sex, room service and more sex, Arthur is sprawled out on the bed with Eames's head resting on his chest and his fingers carding through his hair. He can't remember a time when he's ever felt so contented and relaxed. It's a good moment.

Eames presses a kiss to his chest and says, "Stay another day, please."

Arthur thinks about Paris and how he regretted leaving. He's not ready to leave, but still.... Eames's voice sounds in his head. _There's always a but with you, Arthur, isn't there?_ Yes, there is. "The room is only booked through tonight."

"You know that's easy enough to fix." Eames pushes up so that he's looking down at Arthur. "I'll take care of it."

Arthur reaches up, cups Eames's chin and presses upward to kiss him. "Ok."

He doesn't regret his decision, particularly when the next afternoon finds them alone in a movie theatre, and Arthur biting his lip to keep from moaning. There's some ridiculous slasher flick that he's never going to remember the name of playing, but the image of Eames on his knees, mouth around Arthur's cock, while he strokes his own is going to be forever emblazoned into his mind.

Eames stops sucking him off, and Arthur bites down hard enough that he tastes blood and feels the burn in his lower lip.

"Come on, Arthur, let go. There's no one around, and if there was they couldn't hear above all the screaming in this bloody silly film." Eames runs a finger down the underside of Arthur's cock. "Let go."

He doesn't get a chance to answer because Eames bends over and takes Arthur's cock deep, sucking hard, and Christ, that's so fucking good. Mind blown, he does as Eames requests and lets go, moaning loudly in a movie theatre of all places. Eventually he's not sure which sounds he's making and which are from the movie. The sounds and the hot feel of Eames's mouth are a building crescendo, and when he comes, he feels like he's exploding into sound.

"Now that was unforgettable."

Arthur has to agree, and he'll do so once he can find his breath.

The rest of the day flies by far too quickly, and before he's ready the sun is rising on the next morning. He gets dressed feeling strangely bereft. Arthur's so distracted by the feeling that he doesn't hear Eames's first inquiry as to if they want to share a cab to the airport and has to make him repeat the question. He realizes he hasn't done anything about where he wants to go next. His not even thinking to plan such a thing is disturbing, and he's surely not going to admit to Eames that he's unprepared. He's had his fun and now it's time to focus on the details again.

"I'm actually going to South Station. I'm taking the train back to New York." He'll book a ticket as soon as Eames is gone.

"Ah well, then, I guess we part here. I hope you had fun."

Arthur smiles. "I did."

Eames kisses him, slow and deep and long enough that Arthur grows hard and is tempted to toss him back onto the bed and try for day four. But before he can turn thought into action, Eames is stepping back and grabbing his bag. "You always know how to find me if you want me for anything." Eames squeezes his hand and then he's gone.

As Arthur stares at the empty doorway, he knows he'll be finding Eames, and that they've just started something he doesn't know how to categorize or what its trajectory might be. That should be disconcerting, but it feels exhilarating, so he's willing to accept the uncertainties.

*~*~*~*~*~

They quickly fall into a pattern where Arthur texts a location, and if Eames is in the area, or able to get there quickly, they meet up. Sometimes when things have been particularly rough with Cobb, it's all he can do to wait until the door is closed to get his mouth, his body, on Eames and make himself forget. He prefers the times without desperation as then he can allow Eames to surprise him. It's still a novelty to know there are surprises he enjoys.

In Rio, the weather is disgustingly humid, and he's almost too hot for sex. Almost. Eames coaxes him into better humor, and then takes an aggressive approach. Arthur allows him. He doesn't remember the last person he'd turned his control over to, or maybe he doesn't want to, but while it's not easy, Eames somehow makes it possible and always worth it.

Eames's cock presses into him, and through the window, he sees the sky darken. The sound of thunder shakes the room, followed by flashes of lightning so bright that it gives the moment a dreamlike quality. Arthur presses his hands hard against Eames's sweat soaked back, pushing him in deeper. The burning pleasure serves as a totem for recognizing reality.

"No dream could be this good," Eames says as if reading his mind.

Arthur arches upward wanting more, and Eames gives it to him. He allows Eames to split him apart and put him back together again, coming down to the fading sound of thunder and rain.

*~*~*~*~*~

A job in London has just drawn to a conclusion when Eames contacts him. At the time, it never occurs to Arthur that this is the first time since they've started having sex that it hasn't been him choosing the setting for the encounter.

"Arthur, I'm in a spot of trouble. Nothing dangerous, just working a job and in danger of my cover being blown. Would you mind terribly being an acquaintance with benefits?"

He doesn't bother asking how Eames knows he's here. It's understood at this point that they know where the other is. "Aren't we beyond needing an excuse to fuck?"

"Ha Ha. I never make excuses to see you naked. You should know by now that it's always my primary goal in life. But I promise I shall properly show my gratitude."

"Where, when, and who am I supposed to be?"

Eames gives him directions to a Tesco about two blocks away, and tells him his identity is Tom Walker, a financial analyst from New York City.

Inside the convenience store, Arthur picks up a bottle of water as he catches sight of Eames. He pretends to do a double-take, puts down the water, and with a wide smile calls out the alias Eames gave him to use. "David? David Middleton."

Eames turns toward him, a delighted smile gracing his face. "Tom! Good to see you mate. What are you doing on this side of the pond?"

"One of my co-workers was supposed to present some findings this week to the bigwigs in our London office, but he came down with the flu, so they sent me instead."

"Poor bugger. But what a spot of luck for us. Do you have some time free to catch up, maybe get dinner?" Eames reaches out and touches the underside of Arthur's hand, fingers lightly stroking his palm.

Arthur finds this pretense of pretending to be one time lovers meeting again to be quite the turn on. "I'm actually free all night. Do with me as you will." That last bit is said in a slightly lower tone, and he watches the way Eames swallows and holds back a grin.

"Brilliant. I shall take you up on that offer."

They walk through Whitehall Gardens, and Arthur notices a customer he'd seen in Tesco's strolling not too far behind them. He leans into Eames, "Persistent tail," he says and laughs as if Eames just said something funny.

Eames wraps an arm around Arthur's waist, keeping him close as he says softly, "Yes, well, the company that hired me to do what I think must be the most boring job on earth is known to cut more then a few corners, so they tend to be rather cautious about their hires."

"Ah."

"I could almost say it's a case of takes one to know one." Eames releases his hold on Arthur's waist, grasping his hand for a minute, and then allowing some space between them as they walk.

They take a taxi to a pub Eames knows so they can grab some dinner. Their tail is lousy at his job and not a local. He seems to have no clue about the lack of table service, as he keeps looking up as if he expects someone to come take his order. It takes him a good half hour to pickup on the pattern and to go over to the bar and order. Arthur's not impressed.

They have a few drinks, but not enough to account for their boisterous conversation about crazy, and of course false, adventures in New York. Arthur finds himself having a blast trying to top each of Eames's silly, outrageous stories. So far his current alias has streaked in Central Park and spent the night hidden in the Empire State Building.

It's late when they head back toward Eames's hotel room, choosing to walk the last few blocks. At first the stupid tail is still with them. Arthur decides to see how the idiot reacts to a rather public display of affection. He pulls Eames down onto a park bench and kisses him deeply with tongue, practically climbing into his lap.

When he lets go, Eames is staring at him, his blue eyes seem darker, wider, beneath the street lamp. "Arthur."

"I think I made him blush."

"What?"

"Our tail."

Eames chuckles. "You devil."

Arthur runs his fingers along his thigh, smoothing the fabric of his pants. "Shall we go?"

"Uh, give me a second."

He looks down, and it's quite obvious why Eames needs a second. Arthur smirks. "Sure."

"You do realize turn about is fair play."

"Do your best."

After a few minutes, they continue onward. It's about a block more before Eames makes his move. He finds himself dragged over to the edge of a building and pressed into a wall. The roughness of brick against his shirt isn't the most comfortable, but he has no desire to object, not when Eames is pressed into him, rubbing against him and kissing his neck. He presses on Eames's shoulder to get him to lift his head, and then he claims his lips, and arches his hips forward so that through his pants he can feel the hardness of Eames's cock pressing against his. They're being stupid. He has no desire to be arrested for indecency, but he also has no desire to stop. His hand brushes Eames's zipper.

Eames removes his hands and rests them against the wall on each side of Arthur's head. Then suddenly their bodies aren't pressed together anymore. Arthur bites down on a groan.

"Ok, I don't think I thought this one all the way through. Bloody hotel is still two blocks away."

Arthur doesn't respond he just closes his eyes and focuses on calming down the pounding of his heart. "It might help if you got off of me."

"What? Oh, sorry." Eames steps back and then Arthur feels the hot heat of him at his side.

Arthur opens his eyes and steps away. He rests one hand against the wall, but he turns his gaze toward the street. No one is around. Perhaps they finally discouraged their tail.

They walk the last two blocks in silence. Arthur flinches each time Eames touches him. He knows he should still be playing the role in case their stalker is following, but his control is razor thin right now—the way it only gets around Eames. Desire is tormenting every one of his senses. He can taste the heavy scent of it and feel it in the goosebumps along his arms.

As they enter the hotel, Eames whispers, "I do think we finally lost him."

"Good." All Arthur cares about is making the final few steps to the hotel room.

Once inside with the door closed, Arthur presses Eames into the door, recreating their positions from earlier against the wall except with him on the outside. He rubs against Eames still clothed until his control is frayed, and then he unzips them both, pressing their cocks together.

Eames loses patience first with their clothing, stripping Arthur of his pants. Arthur returns the favor, and soon they're both naked on the bed. He eagerly maps Eames's skin with his mouth and hands. The overwhelming need he has to touch this man could be a sign of an addiction, possibly the start of a dangerous attachment. Rationally, Arthur knows this, but in the moment, it is what it is. He doesn't care. Or perhaps the desire is just so strong that it buries his common sense. Later, when he's back with Dom, the world once again controlled sharpness, then he'll wonder if even a momentary loss of control is acceptable.

Right now, Arthur is fully focused on the moans he's drawing from Eames as he closes his mouth over the tip of Eames's cock. He makes a swiping motion with his tongue and then pulls back. "Condoms?" he asks.

"Yes."

Arthur smirks and traces a finger lightly starting at Eames's neck and going to the tip of his cock, watching the shudder run through the man's body. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes, front pocket of the hand luggage. Lube's there too."

He runs a hand along Eames's thigh, affection mixing with his arousal, and then goes to get the items. Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, but before he can open the lube, Eames touches his face.

"Arthur, I...."

"No, don't." Arthur's shocked by his outburst, but the look in Eames's gaze shreds something in him. Adrenalin rushes through him—almost as if he's in a panic. He kisses Eames's shoulder and says, "Turn over."

Eames does as he asks, and Arthur opens the lube. He kisses Eames's back as he scissors lube slicked fingers inside him. Whatever that odd feeling was it dissipates and all that remains is lust. When he removes his fingers to get more lube, he notices how still Eames is, his face hidden in the curve of his arm. Arthur leans down and kisses Eames's neck, tongue sliding out to reach the hollow of his collarbone.

"Do it." The sharpness in Eames's tone throws him.

When Eames raises his hips, movement matching words, Arthur's cock throbs, but a sense of wrongness halts him from satisfying his need. Yet when he reaches around to stroke Eames's cock, he finds no loss of interest.

Eames is rock hard and thrusts into his hand with a groan. "Please. Just do it."

There's a rawness to the request that sets Arthur's nerves on edge, but it also has him moving to do as Eames asks. He slides on the condom and when he presses in, Eames accepts him easily.

It's Eames who sets the pace pushing back in quick motions that Arthur follows. And while it feels so damn good, there's also something very wrong. He can read the tells of it in Eames's body language. Arthur pulls out part way, closing his eyes as he grasps the base of his cock and the edge of the condom.

Eames groans. "Arthur."

"I want to feel you against me. Move onto your side."

Arthur hears Eames mutter something about control issues, but he does as asked even lifting his leg so Arthur can slide in close. While he can't get in as deep in this position, it still feels good. The pace he sets is slower, but he balances it with kissing and touching—his hands teasing Eames's nipples, smoothing over his stomach, and stroking his cock. Eventually Eames melts against him, soft moans and heavy breathing. That's the right body language.

"I want to ride you," Eames says.

"Then do it." Arthur doesn't grip the condom firmly enough as he slides out, and it comes off. He goes to discard that one, returning to the bed, before Eames comes back with a new one.

Eames tears open the condom wrapper, but as he does so he glances up, and Arthur sees confusion and sadness. Without thinking, he raises his thumb, almost as if he intends to smooth the expression away, but it disappears before he can touch Eames.

Once Eames is holding Arthur's cock in place and slowly sliding down on it, the time for coherent thinking passes. He place his hands on Eames's hips and pushes upward.

Eames closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He's flushed and sweaty, and _absolutely gorgeous_ , Arthur thinks. He realizes he actually spoke those words when Eames's eyes snap open.

He stares at Arthur, and for some reason very softly says, "Yes."

Their pace grows frantic, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. One of Arthur's hands is curled around Eames's hip. He wraps the other around Eames's cock. Eames hisses as Arthur strokes firmly head to shaft and back. A burst of wet hotness covers his thumb and splatters onto his chest. The feel and sound of Eames coming sends him over. His grip on Eames's hip tightens as the orgasm rips through him.

Eames pulls out of his hold curling forward on top of him, and the movement makes him groan, as well as giving him vague thoughts of needing a shower. After a few moments, Eames slowly moves off him, and Arthur carefully disposes of the condom.

"Come now, I can't imagine you don't want a shower."

"I wouldn't object." Arthur smiles. "Mr. Middleton, being your acquaintance with benefits has definitely had its benefits."

"You can't lose with that scenario, eh?"

Arthur frowns. "Eames."

"Let's take that shower."

As they clean up in the shower, Eames is unnaturally quiet. Arthur touches his arm. "What's wrong?"

Eames yawns and then puts his head beneath the stream. When he pulls back, he shakes his head splattering water across Arthur. "Wrong? Darling, you can't tell me you're not as exhausted as I am? I refuse to believe it."

"I'm tired."

"Good." Eames runs a finger across Arthur's lips and then kisses him. "Then let's go to bed." He turns off the shower, and they both dry off.

As he drifts off to sleep, one arm around Eames's waist, Arthur has the feeling he should be apologizing for something, but he's not sure what that might be.

He comes awake a few hours later and something feels off. Arthur realizes his hand is extended, and Eames isn't next to him. Turning on his side, he sees Eames is standing next to the window. Even with just the glimmer of city lights to cut the darkness, he can tell there's something wrong as there's a tightness to Eames's shoulders, as if he's expecting trouble.

"Have we been made?" Arthur sits up, his mind already focusing on getting dressed and the various routes out of the hotel.

"Arthur, relax. There's nothing wrong. I just have a bit of insomnia."

"Oh." He doesn't lie back down because there is something wrong.

"Just thinking about the job I'm working. You know how it is. I'm sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep."

Arthur pulls back the covers. "I will if you will."

Eames chuckles, but it sounds off. "You win." He slides back into bed and drapes himself across Arthur's chest.

Arthur adjusts the covers over them both, and then starts to run his hand through Eames's hair. Soon, he feels Eames relax against him, his breaths deepening as if on the edge of sleep. He's positive Eames is just pretending to relax, faking his reactions, but he can't figure out why he's doing such a thing. Should he call him on it or let it go? Obviously something is bothering Eames, but who is he to push if the man doesn't want to talk about it? He let's it go, continuing to run his hand through Eames's hair until the comforting rhythm returns him to sleep.

They part in the morning, Arthur wishing Eames good luck with the current job. For a day or two he's preoccupied with Eames's odd behavior, but it gets pushed to the back of his mind as he has his hands full with Dom who keeps agreeing to riskier jobs.

London will be the last good time he has with Eames before it all goes horribly wrong.

*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur kicks a side table, watching it tumble with a satisfying crash. That was an absolute shit show. He'd told Cobb he'd had serious reservations about this goddamn job. Research pegged their mark as a borderline sociopath at best. She was dangerous, which was why when he couldn't talk Cobb out of things, he recommended bringing Eames in on the job as well. Arthur figured they could use his skill for reading people. But no, they couldn't wait and Cobb said there was no need for a forger. Arthur would have liked to have had another rational human being working the job, which was something Cobb wasn't much of these days.

But even with his doubts and annoyance, he hadn't expected the dream to turn into a medieval hell. How the fuck had that happened? One moment he'd been in a boardroom with Cobb pretending to negotiate a deal with their mark, and then the next he was before a medieval court being sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered. The memory of the awful stench in the air as his ankles were tied to a horse still lingers in his nose making him gag. Lucky for him, Cobb had come along and cut off his head, granting him a quicker death than planned and an immediate trip back to the waking world.

Cobb had architected an office complex, so the dream should have been contained there. He should not have found himself in the 1300s being grateful to have his head cut off! And all of that was bad enough, but the worst had been that he swore he saw Mal smirking at his sentencing, and then he'd been positive he seen her grinning as he was tied to a horse.

Arthur shudders. Mal had looked insane, a cold vicious look in her gaze, something that had not existed in the real woman. Cobb's reaction to his revelation that a projection of Mal had been present had been illuminating. He'd gone pale and quiet. And of course he hadn't answered Arthur's questions of how long had Mal been showing up in his dreams.

His head was killing him. He should just get out of town for a few days. Call Eames...no, that's part of the problem. He's been so distracted by Eames that he hasn't paid enough attention to what's been going on with Cobb. Since when does he run from things? No more.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Cobb. "We need to talk."

"Arthur, I told you a debriefing can wait until tomorrow. We should both get some sleep."

"We need to talk about this now."

"No, we don't. I know it wasn't the smoothest job we've done, but we did succeed. We got the information the client wanted."

Arthur feels like his head is going to explode. "Not the smoothest is the understatement of the year."

"I've got to go. I've got a lead on another job. I'll call you later." Cobb, the bastard, hangs up before Arthur can say there is no way they're taking another goddamn job right now.

A minute later his phone buzzes. He looks, expecting it to be Cobb, but it's Eames. Arthur sighs. "Not now," he mutters and then answers the phone. "Eames."

"Arthur, I...I need your help. Can you come here?"

"Are you dying, injured, about to be arrested, or in jail?"

"No, but...."

"Then this is a really bad time."

There's a pause, and then Eames says, "Rather stupid, aren't I? I should have known better." The words are spoken softly, almost emotionless.

Arthur feels a moment of guilt. "Eames, listen it's...." His phone beeps several times. Eames hung up on him. Son of a bitch. Everyone can just go to hell tonight. He is not some sort of trained animal that jumps when everyone calls.

He drops down on the bed and stares at the side table whose leg may be broken. The alias he used to check in here is going to need to go onto the never use again list. Arthur hits the bed with his fist. Eames has called plenty of times, and Arthur has always gone to his aid. Is he not allowed to have one bad night? Except as Arthur tries to list all the times Eames has called when he was in trouble, he only comes up with one other—just a few weeks ago in London.

Arthur sits straight up, his mind quickly reviewing every interaction he's had with Eames since they started screwing and comes to the conclusion that except for London and tonight, every time they've met he's texted a location, made a call or just shown up. Somehow it escaped his notice that he'd been dictating their interactions. He's not sure what it means that it was pretty much always when and where he wanted, but the guilt for snapping at Eames is growing.

He calls Eames and gets his voice mail. "Hey, give me a call, let me know where, what, when, and I will take care of it. I promise."

When fifteen minutes goes by with no return call, Arthur starts to worry, which is a waste of time. Eames is probably just pissed at him. He should actually apologize, so he picks up his phone. "Eames, listen, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. It was a bad night, but I take it yours hasn't been much better. Call me back, and tell me where you need me to be."

He powers up his laptop and starts to make some calls to see if he can figure out what sort of job Eames had been working. Two hours go by with no word from Eames, but Arthur has gotten at least the minimal details of what's gone on in the last week, and he's growing more disturbed by the minute. Rumor has it Eames lost his forge during a simple job—man cheating on wife, a bread and butter job—and gave himself away to the mark. It had to be more than a simple job, as he's never seen Eames even slip with a forge.

An architect named Bruno Lanesfield had pulled together the team for the job. He and Cobb had worked with the guy once, but while the job had gone off fine, their personalities hadn't meshed. In fact, Arthur despises him. He's an arrogant bastard without a filter, and some insensitive jokes about Mal's death still make his jaw clench when he thinks about the man. It takes him another hour to get in touch with Lanesfield, and by then he's pacing the hotel room.

"I thought you and Cobb worked with Eames on a regular basis. I'd heard he was the best."

"He is." Arthur grits his teeth.

"Maybe he was, but not anymore. I could have picked someone off the street and trained them in dream sharing and they would have done a better job."

As if Lanesfield was capable of training anyone. "What happened?"

"You looking for him for a job? I'm telling you Arthur, pass on him. If he can't handle the basics, I'm sure he can't handle whatever it is you and Cobb have going on. And if you need an architect...."

If only you could throttle people through the phone. "I'll keep that in mind. What happened?"

"Let's just say there's this company run by a husband and wife team. The wife knows that her husband doesn't exactly keep it in his pants, but doesn't care as long as he's discreet. Well his latest bit of tail is about thirty years his junior, and it's gone to his head. In addition the competition has recently shown some insider knowledge. Wifey gets it into her head that her husband's latest fling is actually a plant from their competitor and her stupid husband is spilling company secrets. He won't hear a word against the darling, so she needs some proof. Follow?"

"Yes. Go on."

"All Eames needed to do was pretend to be the girl, feed the jerk's ego, and see what he spills. Shit, it don't get any easier."

Arthur rubs his forehead. "What went wrong?"

"I don't know! Eames wasn't exactly forthcoming."

The nastiness conveyed in the last statement makes Arthur narrow his eyes. God help Lanesfield if he laid a hand on Eames. "And what exactly did you try to do to make him be forthcoming?"

"I didn't beat the shit out of him if that's what you're asking? Although trust me, I wanted to. He had it coming. All I know is the dream started to go down in flames. Literally, the whole fucking place was burning down. I go up to the restaurant where Eames is supposed to be having dinner with the mark, and he's flickering in and out like some old time film whose reel is broken, you know? One moment he's the floozy, the next himself, and then I swear some other woman. It was a goddamn disaster."

"Do you expect any repercussions?"

"Expect? We didn't get paid! It was an easy job that we should have walked away with a cushy payout, and we came away with nothing."

"But no one is after you?"

"Nah, the husband and wife were too busy bitching each other out to worry about retribution."

"Did Eames mention where he was going?"

"He mentioned India, but that was almost a week ago. Might have moved on or changed his mind. I really wouldn't work with him if I were you."

"I'll take your recommendation under advisement."

"And remember if you need an architect...."

"I'll remember." Arthur hangs up the phone. "Not to call you ever." He tosses his phone on the bed and grabs his laptop. At least now he has somewhere to narrow his search on Eames's known aliases.

He's got hits within twenty minutes. As of today, Eames was still in Mumbai. Why couldn't he have been in Europe? With the connection, it's going to take at least 14 hours if not longer for him to get from Madrid to Mumbai. As he's searching for flights, Arthur dials Eames's cell, and once again immediately gets voice mail.

"Listen, I'm coming to you, so stay where you are, and call me. Please."

He books a flight and starts packing, intending to text Cobb from the airport. However Cobb is apparently a mind reader as the moment Arthur thinks about him, his phone rings. Shaking his head, he picks it up. "Cobb."

"We've got a job lined up for next week."

"You're going to need another point man."

"Arthur, come on, you're...."

He doesn't have time for this now, so he cuts Cobb off. "This has nothing to do with that disaster of a job, and we will discuss that when I'm back. But right now I have something personal I need to handle, and I'm not sure if I'll be back by next week."

"Is everything ok?"

_No._ "It'll be under control shortly." Arthur closes down his laptop.

"Do you need my help?"

"Thanks, but I'm good."

Cobbs takes a deep breath and exhales. "Is it Eames?"

Arthur wonders how much Cobb knows about the time he's been spending with Eames. Cobb has become such a mess of a man that he sometimes forgets that his brilliance extends beyond the dreamworld and that he actually is observant. "Yes. He needs my help with something."

"Let me go with you. If Eames is in trouble, you could use someone to watch your back. We'll be better able to help him together."

Arthur has no doubt Eames is in trouble, but he's not sure what the nature of the trouble may be. Eames seemed to indicate he wasn't in danger, and his conversation with Lanesfield indicated that as well, so that means the trouble is something personal. Cobb won't be any help. He'll just be a hindrance and make it less likely for Arthur to get through to Eames. "Things are under control. If I get there and find out I need help, I'll call you, ok? But it won't be necessary."

"All right. Be careful, Arthur, and good luck."

"Thanks."

*~*~*~*~*~

He blames the heat in Mumbai for making him feel like he's been here for weeks, or perhaps it's his not having really slept in 48 hours. Soon after making his way through the headache of immigration formalities at Chattrapathi Shivaji Airport, he tried Eames's cell again, and had a moment of quickly shattered relief when it was answered.

_"Eames. Where are you? You're not giving me the silent treatment are you? Because that would be juvenile."_

_"Hello." That voice is definitely not Eames's. It's much younger._

_A chill goes through Arthur. "Who is this?"_

_"Hello." Then he can hear several people giggling. It sounds like girls._

_"How did you get this phone?"_

_"Phone. Hello. How are you?"_

_"I need to talk to the person who owns this phone. Can you get him?"_

_"Goodbye. Have nice day."_

_"No." He's too late. The connection is gone, and no one answers when he calls back._

Why had Eames gotten rid of his phone? That question keeps circling in his brain, and he doesn't like the possibilities coming to mind. At least the sun has gone down, so the heat is only oppressive instead of unbearably oppressive. Maybe he just lost the phone. From what Arthur can tell Eames has been making his way through Mumbai's nightclubs. If he was in trouble surely he wouldn't be making himself so memorable. He's obviously not trying to hide, which makes it all the more frustrating that Arthur hasn't located him yet.

As he's exiting yet another one of Mumbai's supposedly hip places to be, Arthur happens to notice that the crowd of people on the street are all going around something. He doesn't know what draws him forward, but he's thankful for the instinct, because unlikely as it is, sitting on the edge of the street seeming oblivious to the crowds around him is Eames.

He pushes his way through the crowds. Eames doesn't turn to look at him, even when he's standing in front of him. "Eames." Arthur kneels. "Look at me."

Eames blinks. "Arthur? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You called asking for my help, remember?"

"Oh yes, I bloody well remember. I don't need you. Go back to wherever you came here from."

"I'm staying, so why don't we go back to my hotel and talk about this in air conditioning?"

Eames shakes his head and then groans. "It's not good when the street spins, is it? Never mind. I'm perfectly happy where I am."

Arthur sighs and sits down next to him. He hopes he doesn't get trampled, but the crowds just seem to flow around them. Eames looks like shit. There's a bruise on the side of his face, and blood on his shirt. "What happened to your phone?"

"I lost it. Lousy piece of tech."

"It's useful when you're trying to get in touch with someone." Arthur's sarcasm is lost on Eames.

Eames frowns at him. "You shouldn't be sitting there?"

"Why not? You are."

"Because you'll get dirty. It rains a lot here."

"I'd noticed. I'll get cleaned up when we go back to the hotel." Arthur hopes Eames will take the hint in that statement, but no such luck.

"You're not wearing a suit."

"And you're very good with the obvious tonight. I do dress for the climate. You know that. A suit would be ruined in this sweltering mess."

Eames waves a hand. "You know." He takes a deep breath and sighs. "I think in my mind you're always in a suit. Unapproachable. I always have to figure out a way to get past those layers. Set the scene so that I can touch you. Why? It's too bloody much." Eames drops his head onto his knees.

"Hey." Arthur puts his hand on the back of Eames's neck and the resulting flinch makes him feel as if he's been slapped. "I'm sorry. I was an ass when you called. It's not an excuse, but I had just finished a job with Cobb that was really fucked up."

"And I care, why? Go back to Cobb, Arthur. You're not needed here."

"I'm not leaving you, so why don't you just come back to the hotel and sleep this off?"

"Fine. On one condition."

Arthur rubs Eames's back. "Ok, what's that?"

"Don't touch me."

If the earlier flinch was a slap, that was a punch to the gut. Arthur pulled his hand back and gritted his teeth. _Ignore it. He's drunk. It's pointless trying to have a conversation with him like this, so just get him back to the hotel any way you can._ "If that's how you want it." Arthur stood. "Let's go."

Eames stood and immediately swayed, but Arthur didn't reach for him, and luckily he found his own footing. He really didn't want to see Eames add concussion to his obvious inebriation.

Arthur flagged down one of Mubai's odd black and yellow taxis. He would have liked to have ridden one of the newer taxis with air conditioning, worth the extra cost in his opinion, but none were in sight, and he just needed to get Eames back to the hotel. So sweltering taxi with zero leg room it was. During the ride, their driver adds to the cacophony of horns blaring, and Eames winces looking as if he might vomit at each sound. Arthur keeps quiet and tries to refrain from touching Eames as much as possible during the bumpy ride.

After he pays the driver, and they get out of the taxi, Eames laughs. "The Four Seasons? Really, Arthur."

"Yes. As there are no more than eight rooms to a floor, there are less nosy guests. And this alias has an in with some of the staff who can be counted on to be discreet."

"Shall I test that discretion?" Eames grin is wicked, and Arthur is thrown by his change in mood.

He shrugs. "Will it make you happy?"

Eames grin disappears. "No." He starts walking toward the hotel, balance not quite right.

As Arthur leads the way to the elevator and his room, they get a few looks, but for the most part people at least pretend to be minding their own business. Once inside the room, Eames drops onto a couch, and Arthur asks, "What happened?"

"You're going to have to be more specific. I'm plastered and absolutely knackered."

"Losing a forge during a job."

"Ah, that." Eames shrugs. "Job went pear shaped. It happens to the best of us. Well except for you of course, because you're perfect."

The bite to Eames's words and the hurt in his expression makes Arthur's stomach twist. He caused this, which means he has to fix it. Except he's not sure how to do such a thing, particularly with Eames in this mood. "You've got blood on your shirt. Do you need me to take a look at anything?"

"No, it's just a few scrapes. And I'm not so drunk that I need your help in the shower." He walks into the bedroom, and Arthur hears the bathroom door close and the sound of water shortly after.

There's a powder room right off the living area of the suite, and Arthur uses that to clean up. Then he calls down to the front desk to see about getting some clothes and painkillers for Eames. Thirty minutes later when the items arrive, Eames is still in the shower. Arthur puts the items onto the bed where Eames should see them and pauses at the door, listening. Once he's sure he hears sounds of movement, and Eames hasn't passed out, he gets undressed and puts on his pajama bottoms. Then he goes back to the living room.

He stands at one of the floor to ceiling windows and stares out at the Arabian Sea. It would be nice if Eames were to come out of the shower with a forgiving outlook, and see him standing here and decide that the view is too good to not have sex by. He's pretty sure the chances of that scenario happening are slim. Arthur runs a hand over his face. He's really screwed things up.

When Eames comes out of the bedroom, he's wearing pajama bottoms, which surprises Arthur even though he'd placed a pair on the bed. Normally he skips such things happy to lounge naked.

"You know my size?" Eames is holding the rest of the clothes Arthur had left for him and looking at them as if they might bite him.

"Of course I do."

Eames looks at Arthur and when his gaze slides to the view his mouth turns down unhappily. "Go away, Arthur. I'm not drunk enough anymore to deal with you."

"You're in my hotel room." Arthur points out, ever practical.

"I'd leave you alone if you asked."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would if it was what you really wanted."

Arthur doesn't no how to handle this conversation. What does Eames want him to say? What went wrong on that job to make him behave like this? He's missing something.

Eames tosses the clothes onto the couch and drops down next to them. He slumps back and stares at the ceiling. "You know the best part is I did this to myself. You're better than me, always have been. I can't crack that fortress. It was a hunt for fool's gold. Illusions in a fountain."

How is he supposed to make heads or tails of that drunk ramble? "Eames...." Arthur pauses and then says, "Maybe you should get some sleep." He thinks that might be a good idea for himself as well. Perhaps Eames's rambling would make more sense if he wasn't so damn tired.

"Sleep. Everything will look better in the morning, eh? Perhaps you're right." Eames stares at him long enough that Arthur grows uncomfortable before he says, "Good night," and goes into the bedroom.

Arthur stands by the window for a while, too tired to move. Eventually the silence and the circular thinking of his own brain gets to him, and he turns on the TV as a distraction. He sprawls out on the couch, but despite being exhausted, he doesn't nod off. The surreal hyperawareness that goes with sleep deprivation makes it impossible for him to get a handle on his thoughts and lock them down. He keeps screwing things up. His job is about making sure all the details are nailed, and yet he missed the signs that Mal was suicidal. He still hasn't uncovered the secret Cobb is keeping that's shredding his reason more than the grief. And now he thinks there was something bothering Eames before that phone call, probably since London, maybe longer for all he knows, and he missed that as well.

Eames's anger isn't about one phone call. He gets that, and while he can't recall individual incidents, he knows himself, so he's sure Eames probably has a list of times Arthur shut him out. Except it wasn't intentional. Caught up as he is in his thoughts, he at first thinks the sounds he's hearing are from the TV. When he realizes they're actually coming from the bedroom, he bolts off the couch.

Eames is shouting. "Maggie! Oh God, no, Maggie!"

Arthur has never heard his voice hold such horror and panic. "Eames." He shouts the name hoping it will wake him, but it doesn't.

"No, you fucking bastard."

"Eames." Arthur gently touches Eames's arm, but Eames still doesn't wake. However, he stops shouting.

He's quiet for a moment, and Arthur begins to think the dream is over. It's weird to think of Eames having a nightmare. He wasn't even sure if he still dreamed.

"Arthur."

"I'm right here."

"I just need to. Yes, that's it." Eames leaves long pauses between each word, and Arthur realizes he's still dreaming. "Arthur, please. I need."

Arthur slides into the bed beside Eames. "Shhh. Right here. You can have whatever you need." He runs his hand through Eames hair. "Whatever you need."

"Arthur." Eames's voice is a mumble, and he no longer sounds upset. He curls into Arthur, and his breathing evens out.

After spending the last few days searching for Eames, wondering if he was all right, finally holding him fills Arthur with more emotion than he knows how to handle. There are very few people in his life that he's trusted. Cobb and Mal were on that very short list, so when Mal died, Cobb was all he had left, and he had to do everything he could to protect and help the man. He expended so much energy battering against Cobb's walls that he lost sight of what was important to him, or more accurately he didn't pause to understand who also had become important to him—Eames.

"I was afraid," Arthur whispers in the darkness. This is the truth he's been denying. Eames scares him. Eames is like water washing over him and filling spaces he hadn't even realized were empty. With Eames, he wants things he once thought he shouldn't want, does things he'd forgotten he'd enjoyed. Being with Eames makes him happy, and that's terrifying. It's not that he's afraid of happiness. That would be stupid. He just knows that happiness is fleeting because loss is always nipping at its heels.

Mal, god how he misses her. He loved her, not in the way Cobb did, of course, but she had been one of the best friends he'd ever had. She made him laugh, made him feel like he belonged. He should have been able to help her. She'd been there for him so many times in so many ways big and small, and when it mattered he somehow missed the signs that she needed his help.

The loss hits him anew, and Arthur grips the sheets and moves closer to Eames. He's never really allowed himself to grieve for her. When it first happened, there'd been no time for pointless emotion. Cobb was on the run, and Arthur had needed to be focused and practical to keep Cobb safe from himself. He'd lost one friend. He wasn't going to lose another.

Maybe this was something he should have shared with Eames. But Eames knew how much he cared for Mal, and he had to understand grief, so what was there to talk about?

_"It's the past; it's done."_

_"No, the past is never done." Mal touches her chest. "Because it becomes part of the fabric of who you are."_

_Arthur raises an eyebrow and smiles at her. "Next you're going to say something corny like 'we are the sum of all our hopes and dreams.' You analyze your mistakes after you make them, figure out what needs to be fixed and move on. We're who we choose to be."_

_"That too, but we're also what our experiences make us."_

_"I'm not going to spend hours debating this with you, no matter how much you would like that." She sniffs, and Arthur grins. "Regardless of if we're made by experience or by choice, you're saying we should be unearthing the supposed deep, dark hurts of our past in some maudlin display as a form of catharsis? If it's not bothering you, why dig it up?"_

_"No, no, no!" Mal flings her hands in the air. "I'm not saying you share these things with everyone, but with those you love, those who love you, that is how you know each other, how you grow to understand."_

_"We share dreams, Mal. I think you know me."_

_She glares at him. "Ha! I know you like to control the dream, manipulating it until it's clear and sharp and under your control."_

_Arthur leans back. "And what's wrong with that? You get the same rush of creation I get when we dream. What should be impossible becomes something we can control and shape. And we do that together. Isn't that connecting?"_

_"You dream all wrong, Arthur."_

_Now he's mad. "If you think I suck at this why are you working with me?"_

_"You misunderstand. I think you're brilliant. You are one of the best there is in this business."_

_Arthur relaxes. "But I dream wrong?"_

_"Yes, because while it's human nature to try to control the dreaming, the true journey, the true experience, is to just let go and see what's out there. Push our minds as far as we can go. Invite chaos in and let it sweep us away."_

_"That sounds messy and dangerous."_

_"Perhaps, but it's living, and I'd rather live than hide amidst shadows I can control."_

_Arthur shakes his head. "We're never going to agree. So I'm done with today's discussion. How about we agree you can play in the mud and finger paint, and I'll stick to more dignified things."_

_"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur." Mal comes over to him and cups his face. "One day you will understand. May I be there to gloat."_

He wishes she were still here to gloat and give him advice to guide him out of this mess. But he's going to have to figure it out on his own, which is fine, as that's what he's used to doing. In his mind, he hears Eames saying, "I can't crack that fortress," and thinks, _I'll let you in, Eames, but you may have to show me how._

And maybe if he shares some of himself, Eames will reciprocate and tell him what's wrong, what happened to make him lose control of his forge in that job. He knows that may not happen right away, because he's damaged Eames's trust in him, and trust is not something that comes easily to people like them. Arthur thinks back to the anger he felt when he thought Lanesfield might have hurt Eames, and he knows he'll do whatever it takes to earn back Eames's trust.

Taking increasingly reckless jobs isn't helping Cobb, nor is allowing his own guilt to make him a party in Cobb's downward spiral. And while Cobb is one of his closest friends, and he'll help him in any way if it truly is helping him, right now, he's needed here with Eames. Cobb's on his own for awhile. Maybe he was afraid of what he felt for Eames, but he's no coward, and now that he knows what's standing in his and Eames's way, he'll meet it head-on.

Satisfied that he has a chosen course of action, Arthur finally lets the exhaustion overtake him. He slides his hand over Eames's and falls asleep holding on.

*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur wakes having no idea what time it is, which is odd for him, but what's even odder is that he doesn't care. He stretches, feeling up to the day's challenges, until he realizes he's alone on the bed. With a yawn, he sits up. Eames must have woke first and gone into the living area. He stands and heads in that direction, but he hears no noise. A walk through the suite finds he's alone. Eames's pajama bottoms are on the couch, but the other clothing is gone.

Panic starts to thrum in his veins, but he tamps it down. Maybe Eames went for a walk. Arthur goes back to the bedroom to get dressed and then he sees a folded note on the floor. He breathes a sigh of relief. Of course Eames left him a note. It must have been right next to him on the bed, and he knocked it off.

He bends down to pick it up, but when he opens it, he's not greeted by Eames's horrible handwriting, instead he sees his own precise script.

> _Eames,_

> _The bill for the room has been taken care of. I asked the front desk to give you a wakeup call, just to be sure you wouldn't sleep past check-out time. Considering my sub-par performance, I do not expect any remuneration._

> _However, I hope we'll still be able to work together in the future._

> _Thank you for everything, Arthur._

> It's the note he left for Eames back in Paris after the Giordano job. Eames had kept it all this time, but now he's thrown it away. The message is loud and clear. Arthur doesn't even try to control the panic now. He dresses quickly, not even bothering to fix his hair. One thought only in his mind—he has to find Eames and fix things, make him understand.

He spends three days in Mumbai trying to find Eames, but this time there's no trace of any of his aliases. After he gets back to Europe and Cobb, he keeps at it, but finding Eames when he doesn't want to be found is proving nearly impossible. Still, he doesn't give up. When Eames does surface on his radar a month later, Arthur can't claim success, because it's obvious Eames has chosen to make his presence known. He's working a job, surprisingly with Lanesfield. Obviously the architect has a very different definition of "someone I will never work with again."

Arthur has no idea of the location or details of the job, but he does have a number now to reach Eames. Of course all his calls go unreturned. Two weeks later he's in Brussels and learns that Eames is in Frankfurt. He drops everything and catches a train to Frankfurt. But when he arrives at the location, there's no sign of Eames. The furnished apartment he was renting is empty, spotless even. The only way he knows someone had recently been there is by the lack of dust. Arthur touches nothing and makes sure to erase his presence as he leaves.

Eames doesn't let Arthur catch up with him in Frankfurt or in Lisbon, but Arthur doesn't stop trying. He supposes some might call his behavior psycho, but he prefers the term relentless. Still when Cobb says he's going to Mombassa to find Eames, Arthur is worried. Eames won't work with him, so that means Cobb is just going to be risking himself in Cobol's backyard for no reason.

But the look in Cobb's eyes as he says he needs a forger is knowing and confident. It's so very Cobb to suddenly find hope and decide that Arthur needs to have it as well. And he'll admit there is a small flicker of hope that just maybe Eames is tired of ignoring him and will be tempted by the challenge of Inception. Arthur doesn't think it's possible, which means it's right up Eames's alley.

Still he's floored when Cobb calls and says Eames is on board. He tries to get a reign on his emotions as this is only a small step in the right direction. However, the knowledge that Eames is on the way combined with the rush of showing Ariadne how to build mazes and how damn fast she catches on has him feeling like there's nothing that can't be done—perhaps even Inception.

All that optimism vanishes when Eames arrives. He's not the man Arthur knows, or rather he's the man Arthur once knew and often disliked. He's the guy who took delight in pushing all of Arthur's buttons to drive him insane, and now he knows those buttons even better. It's infuriating. Still he reminds himself no matter how frustrating working with this Eames is, he should appreciate it because he has a feeling if he doesn't get through this time, it might be the last time he and Eames work together.

Arthur tries to rid himself of the negativity and focus on the job, but he can't help losing his temper in the face of Eames taking pleasure at anything that makes him uncomfortable. Besides even though he's losing hope, he can't give up, because he knows all too well what's he's lost. He's looking at it every day.

Right now, Eames is leaning against the wall appearing bored, and just the sight of him so dismissive means Arthur can't keep quiet. "Explain to me why you find my being knocked over so amusing?"

"It's your expression, darling. You wake with this wide-eyed comical look." Eames crosses his arms and smirks. "And you only have yourself to blame for providing me so much enjoyment, don't you? Your unrelenting need to be in control means you keep volunteering to make sure Yusuf's magic potions won't interfere with a kick. Nothing is ever good enough until you've decided so."

"That's my job." Arthur wants to wipe the smirk off Eames's face, and he's not sure if he wants to do it with a kiss or his fist.

"And bravo to you for doing it so well."

God, his head hurts. Eames really has perfected his ability to push every one of Arthur's buttons. "Can we just stop this?"

"Stop what?"

"What do you want me to do to make it up to you? I apologized. I was an asshole. But I swear I tried to call you back 10 minutes later, and in the end, I went all the way to Mumbai as soon as I realized something was wrong."

Eames shrugs, looking as if the conversation bores him. "Nothing was wrong. I didn't need your assistance, Arthur. That's your self-inflated sense of importance talking. Unless you want to apologize for your ego, no apologies are necessary. We had a dalliance, with some lovely moments, but that was all it was. There were no obligations."

Arthur feels like he's been punched. "It was never just about sex."

"Of course it was." Eames laughs. "Oh, maybe you're right. It was also about your wanting an escape from Cobb's dark and gloomy rain cloud. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed every escapist shag. Nothing like bringing to life a few fantasies, is there?"

"Fine. Maybe at first, I did need to get away, but I went to you for a reason, because without even needing to analyze it, I knew that you could and would help." Arthur swallows but forces himself to forge on despite the awkwardness. "It wasn't about Cobb. It was about you. It's been about you right from the beginning."

The mask falls from Eames's face, and the anguish he sees there makes Arthur feel like the shit he is, but it also solidifies his next course of action. He walks over to Eames, places a hand on his shirt, and says, "Believe me. You matter to me."

He leans in and kisses Eames, soft and insistent at first, and then with a ferocity that expresses all his yearning and guilt. Eames responds in kind, growling into Arthur's mouth and yanking Arthur's shirt out of his pants.

They get carried away in no time. Both their shirts are open to the waist. Arthur briefly thinks about how they are in the warehouse and any of the team could return. But when Eames presses his hand against the swell of Arthur's cock, Arthur realizes as usual with Eames he doesn't care. The risk is worth it if this is what Eames wants. He'd give the man anything he wants right now.

Arthur drops to his knees and undoes the button on Eames's pants, but as he reaches for the zipper, his grasp falls short. Eames has stepped away.

"No." Eames is gone before Arthur can even get up.

For a few minutes, he remains on his knees, trying to process what has just happened. Eames only uttered that one word, but in it, he heard finality and sadness.

He should accept that Eames can't forgive him. Except that thought fills him with panic. No, he won't accept that he can't fix this. He will fix this. But it might be best to wait until after the job is done. There is no room for error on a job like this. If he keeps pressing Eames, both of their work could be compromised.

Arthur slowly gets to his feet and adjusts his clothing. He takes a deep breath and pushes aside all the emotional conflict. For now, there is nothing to be done but to get back to work.

*~*~*~*~*~

Maybe it's having just been part of a team that against all odds succeeded that makes Arthur suddenly feel so free and hopeful. If they can pull off Inception, surely anything is possible. He's counting on that. As he sits in a hotel bar waiting for Eames to show, Arthur's phone buzzes. It's a text from Cobb.

_Kids are already asking when they're going to see Uncle Arthur again. Come for a visit?_

Arthur smiles. _Soon,_ he types. _Maybe in a few weeks._

_Where are you?_

_San Fran._

_Ah. Good luck with Eames. Bring him when you visit._

Arthur snorts. _We'll see._ He has trouble picturing Eames around Cobb's kids, but you never know.

Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking about visiting Cobb with Eames as he hasn't even managed to get Eames to forgive him yet. It's not like him to jump ahead like this, but everything else seems to have worked out, so why not this as well.

After they'd watched Cobb successfully pass through immigration, they'd each left separately for their hotels, but later on he, Eames, Ariadne and Yusuf had gone out to celebrate. And it had been quite the celebration. Come morning they'd gone their separate ways—Ariadne to visit some relatives, Yusuf to explore LA, and Eames to San Francisco. Arthur had been noncommittal because he of course planned to follow Eames.

So here he was having checked into the same hotel as Eames, waiting for the man to show up and get a drink at the bar, which he's positive he will.

It's actually not that long of a wait. Eames strolls over to the bar, orders his drink and then leans back against the bar scanning the room.

Arthur puts down his magazine, stands and walks toward him. Eames obviously sees him, but his expression stays fixed, and he doesn't acknowledge Arthur's arrival.

"I'm having a flashback to Boston, you sitting at the bar." Arthur smiles. "Of course the weather is much warmer." This initial attempt at conversation falls flat as Eames doesn't respond.

Arthur orders a glass of wine and ponders what to say first to break the awkward silence. Luckily the bartender brings his wine quickly. He raises it in Eames's direction. "To doing the impossible."

"It was never impossible."

"Yes, as long as you have enough imagination." Arthur puts the wine glass on the bar. "I've missed you."

"We've been working together for weeks."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I guess I do." Eames takes a sip of his drink and looks away from Arthur. "What are you going to do now?"

"I'm planning to take a long vacation."

"You? Any places in mind?"

Arthur takes a breath. "I was hoping we could decide that together. I'd like you to come with me."

Eames shakes his head and puts his glass down. "Arthur...."

"I suck at this, ok?"

"What is this, Arthur? Perhaps you could try for a little specificity."

He ignores the jab. "Mal used to tell me I shut people out. It was one of her favorite subjects to discuss. She liked to discuss everything. During one of these many discussions, she once told me that it was worth it to share bits of yourself with some people that it was the only way two people could be close. I told her that if they knew me I shouldn't need to share. They should just know. She said, 'Bullshit. Romantic nonsense. History is filled with examples of heartbreak because of people not communicating.' " Arthur did his best Mal accent, which wasn't very good. "What I'm trying to say is I suck at communicating what I feel. Okay?"

"Yes, I had noticed you have difficulties with that." Eames's tone is dry, but he seems more approachable. "Go on."

"I'm not perfect, not even close. I fucked up. I'd change that call if I could. I'd change whatever stupid things I did to shut you out. I can't tell you I won't put up walls, but they're not a fortress. More like plaster I don't even want between us, so feel free to kick them down and call me on it. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm asking for it anyway."

Arthur places a palm against Eames's cheek, and when Eames doesn't pull away, he kisses him. Then he drops his hand so he can grip Eames's. "We make a good team—in all things. I'm better with you, everything is better with you. All right?" He squeezes Eames's hand. "I...you're...." He's stumbling over his words, not sure how to express what he feels.

But suddenly it's all right, because Eames is smiling at him, warm and inviting, and he knows he finally got across at least one thing right.

"Warm. We should go some place warm, love."

Arthur smiles. "Wherever you want to go, Eames, that's where I want to be."


End file.
